Page 132 - Tales from the Bear Cult: Bear Stories from the Best Magazines

124 Furr

you never show up at any of our parties?”
“Like, uh, I don’t force myself on people?”
“You might try.”
“Huh?”
“Word is,” he said, “that you’re good people. So you
come to the next party, okay?” He put out his mitt. “Hey,
they call me Rusty, but I ain’t!”
Rusty looked like a fucker; but while the prospect of
likely having to compete with a bunch of biker chicks on
some level for the men didn’t thrill me, I didn’t want to
be a dick. “Thanks for the invite.”
“See ya.” I could swear one of his booted feet slid over
to nudge my boot. When he stood up, he had a hardon in
his greasy black jeans. He saw my surprise and winked.
Two weeks later, hoping against hope the cigar crowd
was as progressive as Rusty, I was already celebrating. I
was taking a month off with pay. So I was really up when
Rusty and a couple of his buddies roared up to the Ted
announcing one of their parties.
“Dammit, Rusty!” Teddy couldn’t hide he liked the idea
of a private party. “You’re bad for business.”
“Yeah, yeah, Teddy,” Rusty said. “You always show up
after you close this dump.”
“Zip it, Rusty, or I’ll fuck you over about 2:30.”
The whole lot of us hopped on our bikes and followed
Rusty and his buddies back to a big run-down house with
no neighbors. Everyone hustled inside, but Rusty’s side
stand had gotten jammed. I pried it loose, falling conve-
niently to my knees between his legs, while he held the
bike up.
“I like that,” Rusty said. “Your fixin’ my stand. Come
on.” He led me up onto the enclosed porch that was dark
and empty. He grabbed me behind the neck and tongued
me a big wet one that left me gasping for breath and
hard on in my pants.

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